Just Dance
by agentpiperh
Summary: Teresa succumbs to the beat while alone in her office. But is she really alone? One shot. 5th in the Multifandom Snapshot series. For details on the series, see my profile.


A/N: Here's the 5th story in the **MultiFandom Snapshot series**. I realized after I wrote it that there's absolutely no dialogue in here. o_O

When I came up with the title, I was thinking about the music/chorus from Miley Cyrus's "Let's Dance" but the title of Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" - I remembered the name wrong. I think "Just Dance" (the title and song) is more suited to this story- but you can imagine whatever song you like!

This is a response to seeing Lisbon dancing around to whatever was playing on her mp3 player in "Red Badge".

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**Just Dance**

Teresa Lisbon sat at her desk wading through a mountain of files. It was nearing the end of a slow day, and slow days meant having to tackle the paperwork she'd been avoiding like the plague. Well either that or die of boredom. Though she was coming pretty close anyway, and getting what felt like a case of carpal tunnel to boot. Deciding a break was in order, Teresa tossed her pen on top of the file she was working on, flexed her fingers and her wrist, and stretched before flopping back into her chair with a sigh. After a few minutes, she reached over to her computer. A few clicks later, music wafted through the computer's speakers from her iTunes playlist which was set to up the volume slightly, she leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes with a smile.

Teresa would never tell anyone this, and she would kill Jane if he so much as tried to hypnotise it out of her, but she loved to dance. Not the spend your whole life training since you were five, go to Juilliard and get famous type dance, but the spontaneous, bust a move even if you dance like a lunatic, express yourself or vent after a long day, absolutely random dance moves type dance. There were a few songs Teresa could never resist dancing to, and whenever she was in public, she could restrain herself to some head bopping or foot tapping; but once she was in the privacy of her own apartment, she really let fly, often dancing until she collapsed into the nearest chair gasping for breath and sweating bullets.

Speak of the devil. One such song was on now. Before long, Teresa found herself head bopping and foot tapping along. A thought crossed her mind, and she nearly dismissed it before reconsidering- after all, her office door was locked and she remembered closing the blinds after she got tired of seeing Jane staring at her through the window every time she looked up- she was completely alone, so what was the harm? Decision made, Teresa stood and turned up the volume just a smidge. She started with some simple moves, to get into the groove, but before she knew it, her movements became faster, and more and more daring until eventually she was dancing wildly around the office- twirling, stepping, and posing even. Lost in the music, she moved freely, without the self-imposed restraint and coolness she practiced daily as the head of her own team. One long, complicated spinning movement brought Teresa to a stop directly in front of her office window. Opening her eyes, she was horrified to four faces practically pressed against the glass. Van Pelt and Rigsby were staring with mouths gaping, Jane wore his signature smirk, and Cho ws his expressionless and stoic self- though if you looked really closely you could detect a hint of amusement.

Teresa, instantly suffused in red, stayed frozen in horror for a few seconds before springing into action and fumbling for the rod that controlled the blinds, flippin them shut. Free of their stares, she collapsed onto the couch, mortified that she'd forgotten about reopening the blinds earlier. Teresa hid out in her office until she was sure the bullpen was completely empty before leaving that night.

The next day at the office, no one made any direct comments about the events of the night before; however, Teresa kept hearing that blasted song- whether it was coming from a computer, cell phone, or someone's humming mouth. It was like they were playing it just as she walked by, and stopping it the moment she looked at them. Frustratingly, no one even cracked a grin (though she could swear she saw Val Pelt's lips twitch) so she couldn't take out her embarrassment on anyone for making fun of her.

Finally, when Patrick burst into song at the vending machines, Teresa retreated into her office without her chocolate fix, locked the door, and made sure to close the blinds completely. Collapsing back into the couch, she contemplated the window. _Tomorrow, _she thought, _Tomorrow, I'm painting that damn thing black._

THE END


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